


Fairytale: the origin of Jashinism

by goddamnitaisha



Series: Orochimaru Shinden [11]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-26
Updated: 2019-04-26
Packaged: 2020-02-04 19:05:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18610633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goddamnitaisha/pseuds/goddamnitaisha
Summary: Accidental fic: feminist fairytale about the first Jashin priestess acquiring her powers, as told by Orochimaru.This is a roleplay @thesneakymedic on tumblr. I aim to edit and beta this later. Half of the writing is hers. I am uploading it because I enjoy Kabutu/Orochimaru. I want to share.





	Fairytale: the origin of Jashinism

**Author's Note:**

> Needs to be reviewed by me.

"Lord Orochimaru, may I have a moment with you?" Kabuto asks while he has a scowl on his face.

Orochimaru looks up from his catalogue of human trafficing events and highlight special offers. He does not take the towel-wrapped bar of ice from his face. "Yes, dear. What is it?"

"I know that we had to drop the subject on who kissed and bit me on the lips since no one knew who it is, but I scanned the bite and I put it in the dental records a while back. I know who did it and with your permission, I really wish to personally punish them."

Orochimaru looked more troubled now. "The fact you ask me, means that is someone who is closer to me than you would like."

He rubbed his thumb over the ice. He should take this news slow, step by step. "Is it someone valuable to my Favourite's training?"

"Not that I know of, but let's just say that by the end of the day, hopefully that stubborn bitch will stop fucking with me." It's unlikely for Kabuto to curse but it's signifies that he's more annoyed than he thought he was with this.

"Excuse me?" Orochimaru says. Curses are more satisfying to utter when they abhorred. He knows this, therefore protests. But at the same time, he thinks Kabuto should not curse at all in general. Especially since it summoned graphic images to Orochimaru's mind. "For how long has it been going on? Is it not one instance?"

"For awhile, but like I said, I want to handle it on my own. If you get involved, I don't think it'll solve anything as she'll probably keep up her antics." He adjusts his glasses. "I want her to know the consequences of her actions."

"If this is how you wish to deal with it, go ahead." Orochimaru said. "I trust you, Kabuto-kun."

  
Several days pass.

"Lord Orochimaru, can I ask you something? About the vampire thing the other day? I don't think I heard of those kind of stories before other than the ones that take form of seductive women or men in parts of the Suna desert regions.

I'm not interested so much in myth or superstitious tales but I'm just interested to hear what you know about it. Like what you know and what was the real cause of the legends here."  
Orochimaru is just checking the fading bruise on is face in the reflection of his teaspoon. The flower's petals are less purple, and have discoloured to yellows and greens. In a way, it suits the purple lines around his eyes. He puts the spoon back in the cup. He pushes the other teacup to the other side of Orochimaru's desk, to Kabuto-kun.

"You say you're not one for myths and superstitions, yet in the next breath, you ask me for them... ku ku ku." He opens box of teas so Kabuto can choose his flavour.

"First things first. How did you handle your vampire lady? I heard none of it, and didn't notice any changed schedules, meaning I should applaud you for your discretion or assist you in the punishment."  
His gaze lingers on the bruise on Orochimaru's face, thankfully it's fading away but the rumors of the bite on his lip did stop. But strangely enough, there are times of when he's met with "envious" eyes of a few followers and Kabuto doesn't seem to mind. Least the teasing and the mocking will cease now.

He picks up a green tea packet. It's the healthiest tea after all. "You're right but it's just a simple curiosity that has been bugging me since you mentioned it to me." Adjusting his glasses, he sighs as he turns the package around to observe it, "As furious as I was that day, I started to think rationally about it and since we still needed the manpower since we lost so many men when the Mist shinobi raided our other hideout. All I did was restrict her of her privileges and her freedom as I gave her plenty of time consuming tasks and chores that she had no rest at all. I made her work like a dog. Killing her wouldn't be a wise choice now, but punishing her with hard labor did seem to keep her too busy to pull off any of her pranks. Unless you have an idea of another kind of punishment, then I'm all ears." He smirks at Orochimaru.  
"Oh no," Orochimaru said, "Don't tell me her name, and don't let me talk to her unless she pranks again. If you'll tell me her identity, then I will get angry. I will visit her, scold her for what she did to you, and scold her for putting me in a situation where I had to resort to this-" he pointed at his face "-and I'll frighten her very much. Frightened people don't work at all. They cry too much, I've found, fu fu fu..."

He reached out over the table. He tugged a strand of hair behind Kabuto's ear.

"Well done, my dear."  
He lets him, feeling reassured that he made the right choice. Yes, he was violated and angry, but after thinking it through then now it doesn't seem like a big deal. Though telling Orochimaru who she is would be interesting since Kabuto has a little sadistic streak. But as long as the woman doesn't do it again, then it's fine.

"It would've been fun if I told you anyway but I'll save it for next time she does something else humiliating to me. " He eyes the bruise again, "Does it still hurt?"  
Orochimaru averts his eyes. He opens his mouth and he wets his lips with only the tip of his tongue, not with the underside. He closes his eyes. He smiles, and his smile spreads wider until it shows a hint of fang. He opens his eyes. Then his pupils drift from that random spot in the distance, to Kabuto. They settle on his face, look into his eyes. He says, "absolutely." He doesn't show whether it is real or if it's played. He follows it up with: "Therefore, you must kiss it better."  
He raises an eyebrow at Orochimaru's smile, then he forms a sly smile himself as he rests his chin on his hand. Now what was that look for?

"You poor thing. And what if I don't? It looks like it's healing well on it's own."  
You-! Orochimaru stiffens. He looks like he wants to say something, but he's got no words. He closes his mouth, and he glowers. The he turns to his tea. "It will never heal. This will be stuck on my face forever."

He keeps his mischievous smile, "Don't exaggerate. It will heal, besides the purple hue on your face matches your eyes. And you could cover it up with your long hair if it bothers you too much. Besides, how do I know that isn't an excuse for you to try to kiss me on the mouth if I do?"  
He uses his thumb to slowly stroke his lower lip where the now invisible bite scar was previously, "Are you going to want to try to leave a mark on me too?"  
Perhaps maybe he shouldn't tease the man before him. Orochimaru can be unpredictable, who knows what he will say or do if Kabuto teases him too much.  
Kabuto took three weapons in a single breath. He effectively kicked Orochimaru's feeting away with the compliment, and neutralised his right to complain with that solution. The last and worst thing that he did, was flirt. Because that tease was unmistakably a flirt for attention.

Orochimaru looked at that finger on Kabuto's lips. Something changed. He forgot to blink. He stared. That lip was squishy and moist and soft. Would it feel just as nice against his own mouth. He leaned in closer.

"I like you unblemished, to show off no one may hurt you..." He beckoned.  
He stops rubbing his lower lip and he obediently leans close to Orochimaru but slightly, he trusts Orochimaru. "It's only thanks to my medical ninjutsu that I don't have any permanent scars. But that doesn't mean that I have hidden ones that are not obvious by first glance." The hidden scar within his hair when he was first found as a child comes to mind. But he is grateful that the scar on his lip is gone.  
"Keep those hidden," he whispers. "I want to keep your beautiful body spotlessly clean, to show off how well I take care of you. I remind myself that I should continue to do so."

He stands up. He puts one hand on the table. He reaches out with the other, and leans close. He presses his lips on Kabuto's hair, on the precise place of the scar. His eyes drift shut. He presses his forehead against Kabuto's temple. He breathes out.

"You will tell me if you ever need anything, yess? Anything at all."

Kabuto's heart beat a little faster at the kiss on his scar. For Orochimaru to kiss his scar like that means that he's accepted just the way he is despite Kabuto's persistent obsession with identity matters and his own insecurities. He turns his head and he reaches over to place a hand on the back of Orochimaru's neck and he pulls him towards him and he kisses... the bruise gently. And yes, his lips are soft. He lingers for a moment until he pulls away slowly.

"Yes, and if you want or need anything from me, I'll gladly do what you need or want me to do. But I'm alright right now." He says kindly.  
Orochimaru didn't expect to be handled this way, pulled forward by that hand on his neck. He doesn't dislike it. On the contrary, he finds the control pleasant. Kabuto's touch is one Orochimaru only knows as protective. But there's a lingering doubt, a squeeze of fear, that comes up with giving up power.

Kabuto is powerful.

The press of Kabuto's lips on his bruised cheek, is therefore the more welcome. It's a reward or trusting him, it seems, and Orochimaru closes his eyes. He breathes fast, as if he has just run. He feels the tension. His heart flutters.

When he opens his yellow eyes, again, he glances away. Then he glances back to those extremely soft lips. They look squishy, and the miniature lines in it... yes... those lines. Orochimaru knows that if he kisses Kabuto long and lots, then his beautiful lips would lose those lines. The lips will swell up, get sensitive, get warm.

But Kabuto-kun is pulling away slowly, and Orochimaru follows his lead. He sinks back in his seat while his eyes remain on Kabuto-kun. He's both regretful, and thankful, that it stops here. He wasnts more, wants anything Kabuto would be willing to give him. (A touch of nail, a touch of lip, a yank by the hair, a caress, more?) He knows that he would not be able to take everything.

Love or hate, compliments or threats, he's ravenous for Kabuto's attention. He puts his hand over the pace Kabuto kissed, and the warm spot lingers. He knows very good that how strongly he relies on Kabuto-kun could end up killing him. Orochimaru doesn't know how to stop. And even if he did now how to stop, he wonders if he would want to.  
He keeps his smile yet there's also some confidence in it. Seeing Orochimaru what it look like he "melted" at his kiss somehow made him feel more confident. It also made him realize just how much in control that Orochimaru allows him to have over him. But unlike most people who will fully take advantage of this situation and bring out the worst of him. He'll take care of Orochimaru, he'll make sure that his goals are accomplished, will make the right choices, and he'll make sure that he's happy. He'll also give affection to Orochimaru anytime he wants it if it will make him feel at ease. Seeing Orochimaru happy makes him happy.

He adjusts his glasses and breaks the silence, "So... about those myths and tales that I mentioned? Would you care to share those with me or will you tell me another time?"  
He's even surprised that Orochimaru would let him get away with touching him like that. He shouldn't let himself get cocky like that.  
Orochimaru put his elbow on the table and his buised cheek remains in his palm. His fingers continue their cage over the exact Kabuto-kun had kissed, as if protecting it from subsequent touch will prolong the echo-print of the kiss.

"The folklore about these creatures is different from those blood-drinking vampires in Suna. The white women of the hidden mist, were normal women once. They were beautiful. They did not appear as a group, but one by one. They all went through the same experiences. It went something like this:

"Once upon a time a beautiful maiden was told she was beautiful, again and again. She had to talk to men, because she was told her presence would appeal to them and would liven up the party."  
He listens to him attentively with a calm smile on his face. He has forgotten about his tea though.  
"She was told to mind her clothes, because guys liked looking at pretty girls. She was told to smile. She was told that the only way women were appreciated... were if they were either exceptionally physically powerful, or plaaseant to look at. In other words, women were only accepted if they confirmed to a male standard of male -physical- power, or if they confirmed to a male standard of male-lust-object. The maiden had no value of her own outside men's opinion, and stood in service of them.  
"Interesting." He says as he listens on.  
"Stories ended when princesses were saved. Stories ended when maidens were kissed. Stories ended with marriage, as if there was no more to life than finding a man. As soon as a girl would find one, her story would end. Even worse, the story of her partner would go on, and she would forever be the second violin, the backup, the backdrop for his adventure. She would be the home for him to return to, to never leave again. If she did, she would become an evil vixen, or stepmother, or harpy, or witch. She would be a force to be defeated. It was better to stay home and be fucked. Right?"

"She thought not. She thought men to be gross, and violent. She thought women to be weak, and worse, complicit in the men's world. She went to the riverside. From clay she crafted a mask to be like the only One that made no distinction between men, women, old, young, pretty, ugly, and the rich or poor. She made the mask completely white. She did not want to kiss anyone, so she crafted fangs. She put the mask on, and she was Death.

People ignored Death. People greeted Death politely. People didn't want to have anything to do with Death. So she wandered around the world and encountered no friends, no enemies, no romances. Her adventures were of encountering knowledge: that of people, and art, and science, and medicine. She did not aid people. She cared for none at all, except maybe the ones in her hometown, far away on a different isle.

"One day Life came to her in the shape of a young man. He made her laugh, he made her interested in everything she talked about, and he enjoyed Life the way good young men do: with good food, competitive games, and by protecting those he thought mattered. By smiled he enriched others, without becoming any poorer himself.  
"This young man had the privilege to age, to live for himself, to smile for himself. And when he fell in love with a maiden, he slept with her for himself.

Lady Death wanted his happiness, as Death always chases the happy young ones. She shadowed him, copied him. She copied his happiness as good as she could. She looked at herself, and smiled like him. She grew plants and ate like him. She had no one to play with, so when she ran like him, it was for herself.

She was already wise. She grew healthy. She grew strong. She grew prideful of her body and mind. When she saw herself in reflections, she could not see what she was proud of. So she untied her robe to show her strong chest.

When the man made love with his wife, it was for himself. So when she lay down to bed, and could turn to no-one, she reached down between her legs and made love with herself.  
She cared not for the sweat of her body, it wasn't gross. She cared not for the violence of her moves, because it did not hurt her. This violent delight gave her power. So when her hand came up stained with blood, she learned that blood was good. She breathed and smiled and cherished herself.  
.  
This was beautiful, and she wanted to share. She didn't mind sharing it with women, or men, as everyone should know about self-love. But the people wouldn't talk to Death. People wouldn't love Death. So she took off her mask, and made friends. Once she had made a really good friend, she touched them, she touched them lots. And then she loved them like she smiled: by enriching those who received, without making poorer she would gave.

She never gave at the cost of herself, never at the cost of her comfort, never gave more attention than she had to give. She found that when two people love themselves and each other intensely, they are not two but three. There is a godliness in equality and unity. So in creating that moment of god, they could create Life.

Young Life was innocent. It was fragile. And the little Life was dumb. But it eagerly learnt her hard-acquired wisdoms, and that Life would be better and have it easier than she had had.

When a group of villainous men chased down a young maiden, the one who had been Death learnt of their intentions. She saw the battle, saw the struggle, and she knew the chaos. She set out to protect the maiden like she hoped other people would protect her own child in her own absence. They fought.  
Her opponents were strong. She fought with her nails, with her teeth, with everything she had. She was losing. But the Lord of Death had seen her. He had seen her try to protect the innocent and punish the guilty, a desire that had come from a place of honesty. So he lend her his mask once more.

Her skin turned black like the robe she had once worn, and her face turned white like the mask she had worn. When the villains killed her and she died, all the villains died with her--Death took their lives instead. She had the life-carrying blood of others in her, and the Lord of Death said the life was hers to keep.

He restored her in full, except her hair and eyes, which turned white. He made it so because he liked to be reminded to his lost wife the Moon Goddess, who also had white hair and white eyes and brought life. He restored his follower many times for many good reasons, and over time she had consumed so much blood that her eyes turned red.  
"So, Kabuto-kun," Orochimaru smiled. He put his elbow on the desk and rested his cheek in his palm. "Next time you're visited by a shadow you can't see, hear, or befriend, think of this story."

"When you told me about a shadow visiting you in the night, I though of this story. The kiss, it made me wonder about if it was Death. It could be a lesson for you--to love selfishly for yourself. It could be to remind you that love only feels good when you're in charge, and I cannot stress that enough, about being in charge. It's not love when someone throws 'love' upon you without your consent. Then it's not 'love' but 'greed'.

"Me, fu fu fu... I am a very greedy person. After I lost my parents, I have only learnt love through greed. I look greedily, I take greedily, and seize love greedily and selfishly without giving much back. When I look at Jiraiya, or at Kimimaro-kun, or at you, it is greed.

"Someday I will find someone I can love as an equal. I will re-learn how to love selflessly, the way I was taught by my parents and by these childhood stories. I have no equals here, except you. So it will take a while before I meet such a person... fu fu fu.

"I don't tell these legends and myths here, because far too many people in Kiri have white hair. Stories like these inspire dissident and consent. Imagine, wild talk of a shadow who kisses you and takes your blood, could spiral into conspiracies of Death wanting to take you early as punishment for all the good hard work you've been doing for me, for the Otogakure.

Kabuto tilted his head. "How come you did not choose to become a Jashin worshipper?"

"You can guess why."

"I have a fair idea, my Lord, but I want to hear it from you.

"I chose not to become a Jashin worshipper, nor experiment with it, because I don't want my hair and eyes to change colour. That is not cosmetics. I need to stay the same because... nevermind. Anyway, I hate death and want to avoid it as much as I can. I also don't like relying on a deity. If there really was a god who consistently saved the good and punished the bad, then you and I would be out of business. We would not be running a daycare for victims --outlaws, orphans, political dissidents-- of the Big Five Nations, and a prison on the side. If there are gods, I may one day aim to replace them."  
  
  


"Now, I have been taking for far too much. I hope I've entertained you with this one of my Lord Father's bedtime stories."


End file.
